Dragon of Coldharbour
by PigDogAmerican
Summary: The Great War has ravaged the Third Empire of Tamriel and one man is ground to dust by its tread. Yet the machinations of Lord Harkon, the progenitor of the greatest vampire clan of the north, has created something so much more in his stead. The repercussions of this event are beyond the sight of any, mortal or nightkin, however and none can foretell what will come.
1. Chapter 1

**All rights to _Elder Scrolls_ series is the property of Bethesda. **

**Castle Volkihar, Sea of Ghosts**

**174 4E **

A nameless, all consuming, insatiable hunger had been his companion since the time he had awoken. It overrode the gnawing fear of giant featherless wings carrying his battered and exhausted body from the walls of the Imperial City. The fear of the cramp, unlit dungeon that stank of countless previous occupants and the hair-raising screams of unknown victims just outside the grimy rusted iron door, scratches and crusted stains covering its surface.

It even overcame the only thing his mind had been focused on for so many months before. The war with the Thalmor and his beloved 8th legion was but an unseen island in the black roiling sea of his mind.

He pounded on the door in unashamed savagery, hisses and snarls more fit for a rabid animal pouring from his mouth as the smell of that which he sought past his door without reprieve. A pulsing, baleful wave of pain and need tore through his weak and thirsty body as it screamed for release from his new and hellish existence.

It was then on the brink of irredeemable madness as he curled in upon himself that the iron door swung open with a fierce resounding thud, causing another round of pain through his sensitive ears and a hulking silhouette with eyes the color hellfire stared down upon him.

Instantly he was upon his feet, pure fury and hunger boiling in his eyes and body. The dim candlelight gently emanating from the hall served to half blind him and he did his best to cover his eyes from the nuisance while simultaneously moving to ward off the creature seemingly threatening him.

The towering figure flung his arms forward, throwing a petite, feminine figure into the cell without so much as a word before slamming the door back in place. In the spilt second where the accursed light flooded his room, his eyes narrowed down upon the lithe thing.

Darkness once again overcame his new world and despite the utter lack of light, he could just make out the outline of the small woman as she tried to push her body up on weak and unsteady arms.

Even without his eyes however he could still feel every inch of her upon his senses. His nose was caressed by her delicately musky scent, screaming of wood elf, his mind not registering the fact he had no recollections of ever discerning the scent of bosmer.

The taste of her fear induced hormones ran across his tongue as surely as she looked into his direction, her lovely almond eyes dilating in fear at the unseen menace just a few feet from her.

His ears picked up her quickening, uneven breath as she readied to scream in terror and overcoming that was a rhythmic, pulsing rush that emanated from within. A nameless thing that called to him as surely as the moon called to the wolf.

All his senses focused upon its taste, its smell and its sound and with a wordless growl of pure uninhibited lust he threw his body at the suddenly screaming girl, the last noise she made before her throat was ripped from her neck.

The smell of mortal refuse clung heavily to the stale air of the thrall pens which, thanks to a vampire's superior senses, made it nearly unbearable for the majority of Volkihar's inhabitants to remain down there for any length of time.

It was one reason why Rargal both appreciated and loathed his duty as thrall master. The rest of the clan rarely paid attention to him and it was possibly the main reason he had lived as long as he had in service to the court of Lord Harkon.

For more seasons than he cared to remember, when the vanishing of the Ladies Valerica and Serana and the subsequent purges of Lord Harkon annihilated the ancients of their clan; the unseen Thrallmaster had continued his unending toil, seemingly both above and below the comings and goings of the great vampire bloodline of the north.

In fact would not be overly surprised if it was he that was the second behind Lord Harkon in the years he had walked upon Mundus.

Yet even with the knowledge that he surpassed even the prestigious elders within Lord Harkon's court had not proven to bring him any prestige or even curiosity from his kin. Not even fledglings, fresh from their pupation and lost in an unfamiliar world with him being almost always their first connection to that world, sought his council.

If he were one for introspection he imagined his lot within the clan would be much more unsatisfying.

A muffled noise that he imagined was a sob emanated from below him as he continued to bathe the mortal to be part of the Court's nightly feasts. Thankfully he had long since used the scroll made by the court's spellmasters to subdue a mortal body into a state of pacifism, as he did not have the knowledge of how to do so himself. Despite this however he had also long since realized it did nothing to dull their minds.

Still he was thankful that he only occasionally had to prepare mortals who had full control of their abilities. Preparing your meal when it was still very much alive and fighting was a task he did not particularly relish if only for the fact that it took him longer than he thought it reasonably should.

Still, he thanked small mercies that few mortals were a match in sheer physical prowess against the blessed of Molag Bal. Certainly none had ever past within his purview.

Another muffled groan had him considering giving the mortal to the court half bled before an impatient throat clearing caused his head to lift up from his task and into the burning eyes of Garan Marethi himself.

His eyes widened incrementally as the red-haired dark elf stood but a few feet from him, his hands folded neatly behind his back.

"Ah, Garan, an unexpected surprise, is there anything I can do for you?" Rargal spoke out after it was clear the dunmer wouldn't be the first.

The elf didn't so much as move a muscle beyond that which he used to speak with, a trait which had never failed to throw off the nordic vampire in their few and far in between dealings.

"Yes Rargal, a pleasure of course. I am sure you are maintaining the newest fledgling brought to you?" Rargal opened his mouth to respond before Garan continued on, "Lord Harkon wishes to be informed of his status."

Silence followed for half a second as the befuddled thrall master took in what was being said to him.

Quickly moving to stand up from the side of the wooden tub he spoke, "Of course Garan, I threw a bosmer in with him not long ago, I imagine he'll be finishing up with her soon enough."

Garan merely nodded in approval before he wrinkled his nose in distaste before looking down upon the paralyzed mortal,"It would appear another bath is in order Rargal." The dunmer's thin lips curled into a unamused smile before vanishing, leaving the Thrallmaster to his eternal duty.

Garan ascended the last flight of stairs that led across the unassuming walkway in between the south and west towers of Castle Volkihar. The tedium of the long and frequent trips between the primary tower used by the clan and the one claimed for Lord Harkon's personal use had long since ceased to register in the elder vampire's mind and had merely become part of the tasks of being the Lord of Vampire's personal steward and attendant.

Pushing open the door revealed the perpetual gray skies of the Sea of Ghosts and far of in the distance, beyond the frozen island and wide channel, the seaside cliffs of north western Skyrim where frigid waters lapped upon the sparsely vegetated shores. Some of the clan, Garan knew, did not care for the environment in which the clan had resided for ages. But the dark elf, born in the ash wastes of Morrowind, had never given attention to the trivialities one had no control over.

Perfectly composed, Marethi walked rigidly past the monstrous gargoyle guardians into the little traveled tower which his Master claimed personal dominion over. Descending the rooms and staircases bathed in darkness, the dunmer never stumbled or grew lost as his eyes, gifted with the benefits of the Nightkin, never strayed from the winding path down the tower.

Finally he reached the wide double doors of his destination and pushed them open to reveal the personal residence and study of Lord Harkon.

Mortals would be incapable of making out any great details of the room, with only a single hearth on the far side of the re-purposed throne room emanating any light, insufficient as it was. A single dais had been placed only a few feet from the hearth, which Garan knew Harkon frequented during his meditations.

A hinting hum from across the room informed of of his lord's presence and he began walking towards where the original throne room of Castle Volkihar had originally sat, if ancient schematics of the towering edifice were to be believed.

Garan could see only the shadowed silhouette of his sire and liege, with his heavy and encompassing cape masking any discernible features.

In front of the ancestor of all northern vampires, the entire wall was plastered with maps of varying size and content. Areas from all across Tamriel were represented, but most were of Skyrim and its holds. Various marks and scribbles littered the thick pieces of parchment, all faded from the passage of centuries.

As the dark elf stopped at the ancient nordic vampire's side, he saw his lord looking upon the maps, his face impassive while one of his clawed fingertips dug through the heavy oak table in front of him.

It was quiet for several minutes as Garan stood beside his master. He had learned over the centuries to interpret the state of mind his liege possessed at various times, and he knew at this moment he was best off holding his tongue until spoken to.

Finally the scratching stopped, and the still impassive face of Lord Harkon turned incrementally towards Garan, "What news of the fledgling?"

"His pupation goes smoothly, as far as the process could be considered as such," Garan spoke in crisp clear voice, aware his master would brook nothing less at current.

It was quiet for several moments before Harkon spoke again, "I wonder Garan...What do you think of these recent events? The balance of power in the mortal world has been shifting of late, and it has not been long that you have been removed from such affairs."

"Mortals are ephemeral, my lord," Garan responded, his face impassive but his mind trying to understand where Harkon was going with this. "They are fickle and unsure of themselves by nature."

Harkon merely hummed in response, his face still turned away from his servant. "What of the business with the young fledgling? What do you consider of my judgment in that regard?"

Garan's response was quick and sure, "It is my place to provide council if and when you seek it, my lord. I would not dare to be so presumptuous as to question my liege's judgments."

Lord Harkon stood still as Garan spoke before turning to look at the table. A torn cloth of wool dyed imperial red lay upon the oak, with droplets of a darker crimson staining its surface.

"If he survives the process, you will take him under your care, Garan. Treat him as you would your own progeny."

Garan, thoroughly confused now, nonetheless acquiesced. "I will do so, my Lord."

Harkon merely waved him off, now once more becoming absorbed in the trail of webs his long vanished wife had left for him, so long ago.

As Garan turned away the voice of Harkon's voice, dark and powerful, wafted through the still air, "Portents manifest and an end to this limbo nears an end, my love. We shall see who stands, at this, the last game of the ancients."

_**This is something of a prologue, or a sample, of an Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim Dawnguard DLC fanfiction I'm writing. I have become distressed by the lack of fanfictions from a vampire perspective, and a surplus of Dawnguard perspectives. If people appreciate this, I will continue. For any interested in the rewrite of my Resistance: FoM/Mass Effect crossover, feel free to PM me, in all likelihood, it will be posted in the coming days.**_


	2. Awakening

Valien, using the full strength of his body punched the traitor Lokil in the cheek, the studded gloves instantly bloodying his face and with a final thrust, ran Lokil through with his sword, Susjusk, just as Jenassa and the small contingent of Volkihar warriors finished off the last of the traitor's followers.

The cavern descended into silence once more as the gentle rippling of the water replaced the clashing of steel and unnatural echoes of magic.

Lokil grunted silently as his knees slumped to the ground, black congealed blood gently leaving his chest as viscous ooze from the sword still impaled through his chest, Valien never once removing his hand from the ebony hilt. Watching the defeated pretender to Lord Harkon's throne squirm with slitted eyes the very image of Coldharbour's burning skies, Valien felt no pity for the defeated creature before him.

Jenassa silently walked to Valien's side, her face covered in vampiric blood as she looked down upon the defeated vampire, only cold contempt in her dunmer features.

Snarling, she spit the blood of Lokil's concubine at his feet, "Lokil the Betrayer. A millennium of service to our Lord, the man who brought you the gift that very now surges through your veins, and this is how you repay him."

Raising her hand, a surge of heat and light sparked to life within her palm. The Volk behind the three instinctively backed away from the unnaturally hot flames within the palm

The seconds crawled by, as Jenassa's face grew more and more enraged at Lokil's continued silence.

"Well, what have you to say, filth!" The burning eyes of the dark elf turned vampire flashed as her voice echoed across the dank cavern.

The only response that greeted her was the subdued chuckling of Lokil, his dulled eyes half lidded as the loss of blood took its toll.

"Ironic, that you pups who have none but of a traction of the unlife as I, see fit to lecture me of loyalty. Tell me...how can you have loyalty to one whose treachery knows no bounds." A baleful grin spread across Lokil's gaunt face, the stains of blood from the dead vigilant speckling his mouth and overly long fangs, signs of one who paid no heed to the sensibilities of mortals.

A dry cough forced itself from his mouth, as an ever more furious Jenassa and unimpressed Valien looked on, " I, who have served Harkon since before the founding of the Third Empire, have come to see him for what he truly is. You and your generation of lapdogs in waiting are no more safe than the elders he so gleefully slaughtered when his precious-"

"Enough!" Both Jenassa and Lokil were caught of guard by Aelius's sudden outburst before he brutally pulled the sword from Lokil's chest and lifted his other hand, a small spark quickly morphing into barely contained flame, much as Jenassa's had. "You, Lokil are a traitor and you will suffer a traitor's death. Be grateful there is no time to deliver you to his Lordship for a proper departing."

With that, both Jenassa and Aelius unleashed their knowledge of the destructive aspect of the arcane and bathed Lokil in the vampire's bane. Lokil's anguished cries fell upon unsympathetic company and before a minute had passed, the traitor responsible for the defection of much of the Clan lay as a pile of ash on the damp cave floor.

Valien slowly lowered his hand, sheathing his sword while as the flame within his palm that just moments before had burned so bright and hot quickly extinguished without magicka to sustain it.

Turning his head to his companion since the return of the Dragons, he jerked his head up towards the way they had come, "Return with the company and make all haste back to Volkihar with news that we have vanquished Lokil's little rebellion."

Jenassa's eyes, lit from within by her high born blood glittered in the near complete darkness before she waved away the group that had accompanied them, their fleeting steps like ghosts through the air. They had long departed when Jenassa spoke again, away from prying ears, "What of you, my lord."

A shadow of a smile lined Valien's cyro-nordic mouth as he put his hand on the shoulder of substantially smaller dark elf. "Lokil did not come to this place without a reason. I will find out what he was hiding."

Without voicing her dissent, a frown marred the inhumanly elegant features of his longest companion, fifty years his senior by the reckoning of mortal-kind, yet just as devoted to him as the day he opened her eyes to the Night. His smirk quickly morphed into a chuckle as her frown grew continually deeper.

"My Lord, would it not be prudent for me to accompany you, where I may be of service? There is no reason to suspect that the whole of Lokil's camp is defeated..."

"You fret too much old friend, you will be of service to me with the task I ask of you. You are right of course, and that is way I'm asking you to return and maintain watch over the Court. _Our_ Lord may be in danger from further dissent." A wry grin spread across his features, with just a hint of challenge, "Besides, I'm sure you do not believe me incapable?"

Jenassa huffed, realizing that her master had made up his mind and bowed minutely. He was well aware that her true loyalties sat with him even if she was wary enough of others to never voice such sentiments, for which he was grateful, for all their sakes. "Never, my lord, forgive my impudence. It will be as you say."

Valien merely raised his brow in suspect of her claim, although his lightly upturned mouth somewhat dampened the effect, "I am sure you will quickly find another reason to question me again, I have no worries in that regard, Jenassa. Now go, make haste before the Sun rises and feed before you take shelter for the day. Await my return at Volkihar."

A quick bow was the only answer he received and within an eye blink the shadows had carried Jenassa across the cavern and out of his sight.

Valien watched her depart, his face inscrutable before looking down towards the body of the captured Vigilant of Stendarr that the party had first heard of after clearing a path through the old nordic barrow.

Moving towards the dead body of the evidently aged former daedra-hunter, he couldn't help but feel some pity for the fool. It was upon the slopes of the very mountain he now dwelt that the modest hall of the Vigilants had been swiftly dispatched, apparently by Lokil's party if the lone vampire left without sentiment upon its cold stone floor was any indication.

He was aware of what it was to lose those with whom you shared brotherhood and purpose.

Stealing away such thoughts, he eyed the still supple body with new found hunger. Merely scavenging the kill of another was less satisfying for a hunter to be sure, but nearly a day and a half without feeding had parched him, and he had no wish to take leave of his senses this far within the bowels of Tamriel.

Twining his clawed gloves into the enchanted armored robes of the dead man, Valien lifted his entire body into the air before he tore into the unblemished neck, sucking deeply to make up for the lack of a pulse.

The moment the first drop of blood fell upon his tongue his mind vanished into the familiar and ever blissful realm of utter satiation in something no mortal could ever understand. His half recollections of the carnal pleasures of his mortal life paled in comparison to the sheer majesty of this most intimate act as he felt new power invigorate his body with the utmost intensity.

After nearly a full minute Valien had his fill as the veins began to dry and the moment pass, he dropped the noticeably shriveled body to the cold stone ground, a new spring in his step.

As the former vigilant hit the ground however, a small journal fell out of his pocket and onto the ground. Looking down at it for a moment, Valien knelt and reached for the rough leather bound booklet. Licking the pointed ebony studded fingertip with his bloodied tongue, he flipped over the cover to the first page.

"Notes on Dimhollow Crypt...the third volume," Looking back to the stiffening body, he frisked the ragged robes, searching for the previous two volumes in the series, only to find nothing.

Mentally shrugging, he read past the inconsequential meandering of the opening paragraphs, before he came upon what he was looking for, "...observations regarding Dimhollow Crypt's possible connection to the Ancient Vampire Clans of Skyrim's history, I wrote of a great chamber, far larger than anything I have seen here in this crypt."

Looking back towards the chamber and the impressive stone island in the middle of the blackened lake, he lifted from his haunches and began moving towards the elaborate structure.

Now that he looked upon it, the architectural styles between Volkihar Castle and the stone island were uncannily similar. Besides the obviousness of the immobile gargoyles, which were universal among most vampires descended from the Volkihar, it was clear the design was part of what he recognized as the old style of ancient Volkihar architecture, unused for a thousand years since the glory days of the Clan.

He left the bodies of the slain behind as he moved across the small pathway into the cavern proper and onto the grand circular platform. The spaded arches forming a perimeter around the island towered over his head as he moved towards the inner circle sitting a circle of minor arches, where in the center sat an austere pedestal, unadorned except for a miniscule opening on the spherical head.

Staring at it for a few moments, his enhanced senses detected a signature in the air, an amalgam borne of his lower senses, that was both familiar and foreign at once. Eyes closed in concentration, Valien slowly turned to look under him as his mind caught up with what his heightened senses were telling him.

"Whatever it is, its under the platform." Lifting his foot, he brought his heavy leather boot down upon the stone floor; only for ancient dusk to puff up from the unyielding stone, a dull thud confirming its thickness, beyond even his physical abilities to break through.

Untroubled, Valien looked around his body, clad in the traditional armored garb of Lord Harkon's Court, searching for any clues on how to access the hidden compartment beneath the stone platform.

Finally his eyes settle upon the pedestal once more, and to the small hole adorning its top.

Regardless the a dawning suspicion of what the hole was meant for, he removed his enchanted leather glove and cautiously placed his hand upon it.

His ears picked up a small internal click from within the pedestal before a long needle-like prod impaled itself straight through his hand, its bloody ebony body jutting proudly from his flesh for just a moment, seeming to absorb his essence into itself before quickly retracting back within the pedestal, leaving a rather obvious hole in the center of his hand.

A half snarl spread across his features as he half cradled his hand to his chest, "Damn the creator of this cursed contraption to Coldharbour!" Gingerly, he replaced the ebony studded glove back onto his hand, the knowledge that the wound would heal in less than a score's time not lessening his annoyance in the slightest.

His half-hearted grumbling was silenced however as he felt slight tremors in the platform quickly morph into quakes that rocked his feet from under him.

The unpleasant sound of rock scraping upon rock emanated from all around him as the second from last indented ring that made up the platform suddenly shifted lower, quickly moving inward towards the center pedestal.

The most inner ring, the one he stood upon, finally shifted beneath all the others, to the point where he could only partially see outside the ninety degree inclines. His mind did not register this however, as all his senses focused upon the overpowering scent emanating from the suddenly visible pillar in front of him.

"That scent...it can't be possible." Valien slowly reached forward, his hand just barely sliding upon the rough surface of the obelisk, nearly ten feet tall and five feet wide.

He fell upon his rear as the front half of the pillar, more of a sarcophagus from what his senses could tell, pushed forward half a foot, before sliding heavily around the structure like a trap door.

Looking into the surprisingly pristine interior he watched as a decidedly feminine figure-an especially well preserved one-stood deathly still, most likely in a state of torpor.

Apparent from his own confused thoughts, the undoubtedly ancient vampire, her scent did not lie, was not exactly what he was expecting. Valien could only admire the sheer, cold beauty of the creature in front of him.

She was tall, almost six feet he would say, with darkly lidded eyes and framed with prominent cheekbones and a strong, feminine nordic jaw within the cold marble of her skin.

Her powerfully aristocratic face, similar to Lord Harkon's perhaps not coincidentally was complemented by the obviously finely made yet rugged attire she wore. He noticed however that it bore more than passing similarities to the battlewear of Lord Harkon, which he knew to be of ancient design and unrivaled quality, incorporating techniques long forgotten to all but the Night Lord himself.

Although none that he knew of existed from those founding days of the Clan other than Harkon himself, Valien was aware, both from his own mentor, Garan Marethi, and his own studies into the scant records of the old clan that there were some unmentioned others that shared in the pure bloodline, gifted directly by Molag Bal himself.

He knew of no other besides Lord Harkon that could claim such high blood as that of the direct descendant of the most powerful of Princes. Valien himself, who could say with merit of being favored by Harkon regardless of his recent exploits as a Dragonborn and in spite of his rather young age, was considered of high born blood in regards to the rest of the Volkihar despite being only a third generation. His sire, the dunmer Garan Marethi himself was unique among the Clan in having been directly bornt from the blood of Lord Harkon.

His body tensed as he saw the eyes of what could only be a previously unknown Vampire Lord, a paragon of their kind, flutter into consciousness. He felt a half formed wish that he had indeed kept Jenassa at his side, for in spite of all his power gained during the return of the Dov, he was rather unsure if he could survive the force of an avatar of Molag Bal's will made flesh in realm of Mundus.

Finally, sensing as if realizing herself that she was indeed returning to consciousness, her eyes flitted open to reveal rich crimson irises surrounded by pools of enchanting ebony unlike any he had seen before and that he likely would have enjoyed looking upon were it not accompanied by such danger. As if confirming his thoughts within an instant an ornate ebony short sword, crafted in the style of the Akavir was upon his throat and behind the powerful elder's full lips rested impressive fangs barred in an equally impressive snarl.

"How did you open the sarcophagus, vampire? Only the blood of my family would have been capable of unsealing my tomb." Her voice, imperious and threatening, was belied by an almost hesitant undertone. While he was without doubt that she would not hesitate to kill him, as any self respecting vampire, perhaps she was not as sure of her authoritative manner as she wanted to make it seem, or at at least she believed that to be so.

Still, desiring neither death nor willing to defy what was still an undoubtedly powerful ancient, Valien subtly bared his throat in submission, aware of the precarious position he found himself in of whether or not he owed his loyalty to this creature; if she was indeed of the same blood to which he swore fealty. Until then however he could not will himself to completely subject himself to her. His dragon soul and his vampiric blood, both strength and power incarnate, would not succumb to the domination of others so easily. "It was not my intent to disturb your sleep, my lady...if I may-"

An interrupting snort cut him off before he could continue, which must have been completely out of character for vampire royalty, he was sure He had never witnessed any within the court do such a thing in mixed company. He certainly could not imagine one of Harkon's kin performing such an action, most especially within his presence.

The ancient subtly sniffed the air before she looked down upon Valien's forms once more, her chilling blade never once leaving his throat. "There is blood in the air, and the musk of time...how long have I been gone, what of the war between the three alliances?"

Annoyance began to taint Valien's mind at his continued subjection to this ancient, the days of cowering abjectly to Elders had passed with the Dragon Crisis and his Dov-kin Paarthurnaax and Odahviing who both had dwelt upon Mundus longer than any living vampire, but he tempered his pride with the knowledge that he spoke to the kin of his Lord, and therefore his kin as much as any who roamed the skies of Tamriel and crept through the darkness.

Yet she spoke of a time of the Interregnum, surely? Even his previous life as a noble of the Imperial Court had afforded him little knowledge of those days, and the records within the Volkihar repositories were just as scarce as the elders who had walked the Earth during those troubled times. But he knew enough to inform this elder of her state of affairs. "It has been a thousand years, if it is indeed Mannimarco's War of which you speak, my lady."

Risking a chance to look up, he could see a light frown marring the the alabaster-like features of the ancient female, her eyes full of confliction as the leather of her attire subtly creaked against her shifting form. "If you are aware of Mannimarco's place during the war, then you must know of my father, then. Is he still alive at any rate?"

Sensing an opportunity to vacate his current predicament, while also affirm his loyalty to Harkon's bloodline for the elder, he lifted his head and spoke, careful to keep just a hint of deference, for propriety's sake if nothing else, "With respect my lady, I know you are of Lord Harkon's direct bloodline. I am one of his trusted servants, perchance you would agree to return with me to Volkihar for all of our sakes and, most importantly for the benefit of our Lord."

Another decidedly non-regal snort echoed from the forbiddingly, stunning ancient, "If you say so...hmm my father 'trusts' you, does he fledgeling? Hmm, alright then I shall entrust my well being in your hands, lets see to it that my faith is not misplaced."

Deciding to also ignore the unbecoming sarcasm tainting the elder's words, as well as her disrespect towards Harkon, for the moment at least, he could only imagine for how long that would last. Valien bowed his head shallowly, no longer keen on displacing himself for the benefit of the ancient and altogether thrown off by her behavior. Perhaps it had something to do with her extended torpor within the obelisk, he could only hope.

Turning his head back towards the entrance, ever wary of the powerful creature near him, he let the minute scents upon the air speak to his senses. After a moment he instead turned in the opposite direction, towards the towering north face of the cave. "A closer exit from under this mountain sits in this direction, my lady."

Her answer was merely an uncaring wave of her hand, before she spoke, this time in what seemed to be a rather scornful note, "I'm not your lady either, whoever you are. You may call me Serana."

Serana. Valien could already tell he was going to come to regret having to know that name.

**A/N: Not sure how good this is. I pretty much just speed wrote it then went through a single spelling check. This is in the same continuity as the first chapter I suppose, just be aware it probably won't ever develop into a full story more like a series of interconnected oneshots or something along that vein. In case you can't tell either, this will probably be a Serana/MaleDragonborn/Vampire fic...or something.**

**In case anyway is interested, you can expect the first chapter of my Resistance story rewrite that I talked about a cringe-inducing long time ago either today or tomorrow. If it makes me sound better, I already have the first several chapters written, they just need to be spell checked. More on that development later though.**


End file.
